


Consider A New Occupation

by HannaM



Category: The Favourite (2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaM/pseuds/HannaM
Summary: Abigail is acquainted with this look of Lady Marlborough’s and it never means anything good for whoever is fixed in her malicious stare. Particularly when (oh dear) she begins to smile.





	Consider A New Occupation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbitrarily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts).

When Abigail enters, Lady Marlborough is up on a stair ladder, throwing books.  
  
“Good morning, Lady Marlborough,” Abigail says, uncertain.  
  
“Did you see that book of poetry from the Dryden fellow?”  
  
What Abigail sees is a book flying at her face, just quickly enough for her to step out of the way. “I… have not.”  
  
“No.” Another book, this one catching Abigail in the arm.  
  
“No.” Another one, bouncing off her leg underneath her skirts.  
  
“No!” Yet another and another, the onslaught difficult for any sensible person to manage, suggesting that Lady Marlborough is either entirely out of her senses or she means the books to hurt.  
  
In other words, the books are meant to hurt. Which means...  
  
“I… I don’t understand!” Abigail blurts out, but she understands too well, despite herself.  
  
“Did you take it? My book.” Lady Marlborough rests her arm on the banister, with a look of faint but sincere consternation.  
  
“No,” Abigail says at once, which would be true if Lady Marlborough were truly asking about books.  
  
Lady Marlborough starts down the stairs with a gleam in her imperious eyes. “I think you are a pretty little liar that I have misjudged.”  
  
“I did not mean for this to happen,” Abigail manages, which is certainly true. “The queen, she is… devious.” That is not, but it is worth a try.  
  
“Don’t make me laugh.” Lady Marlborough’s hand grips Abigail by the face as she pushes her back up against the door. “You’re a disloyal little bitch and I want to hear you say it.”  
  
“I only did what the queen told me to!” She widens her eyes in her most innocent look, knowing she is in dangerous territory and must rely on the mercy of those more heartless than herself. “Please, you must believe-“  
  
“I believe nothing that comes out of that unexpectedly filthy little mouth.” Lady Marlborough slaps Abigail in one sharp gesture. “Say it.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
Abigail cries out as Lady Marlborough slaps her again. “Say what you are.”  
  
“A disloyal little bitch,” Abigail forces out, clutching her stinging cheek. “But my lady-“  
  
“I am not your lady. However.” She is acquainted with this look of Lady Marlborough’s and it never means anything good for whoever is fixed in her malicious stare. Particularly when (oh dear) she begins to smile. “I must confess to a certain… curiosity.”  
  
There is nothing to trust in that smile, but Abigail must cling to whatever branch is offered in her precarious circumstances, even if it proves poisonous. “What is curious my la- cousin?”  
  
“Despite what you have told me suggesting a lack of experience with women, the Queen tells me you have taken to cunt like a duck to water.” Lady Marlborough arches her finely shaped eyebrows. “Though I suppose you would not readily confess such a propensity in daily conversation.”  
  
Abigail swallows. This does not seem a very promising avenue, but it is not an outright dismissal. “I…”  
  
Lady Marlborough’s hand ventures further south, lightly gripping Abigail’s throat. “Do not speak, or I will make you regret it.”  
  
All at once Lady Marlborough is hitching up Abigail’s skirts, and Abigail barely bites back a surprised cry, throwing her hand over her mouth reflexively, though perhaps she should have first thrown it down to prevent Lady Marlborough’s hands from sliding into indecent places, but now they have done so and as disreputable a circumstance as she finds herself in, certainly the best course of action is not to shove a Duchess off her and storm out of the room as though she had somewhere to go, which she does not.  
  
At least, so goes Abigail’s reasoning.  
  
Lady Marlborough’s cool fingers probe her dexterously, though her expression does not change, which is somewhat unnerving… and also faintly insulting. Abigail would frankly prefer to be ravished (if one can call this a ravishment) by someone who seems more interested in the proceedings.  
  
And yet the absurd thing is that, whether due to the dexterity of Lady Marlborough’s fingers, rubbing in such insistent little circles or the utter oddity of the circumstances, Abigail is beginning to experience pleasure.  
  
Lady Marlborough’s mouth twitches in something briefly resembling a smile. “I might have known you’d enjoy this, you depraved thing.”  
  
Abigail opens her mouth to protest, but a moan comes out instead and she quickly snaps her lips back together, face burning.  
  
Lady Marlborough lets out something between a sniff and a laugh, and some of her fingers delve deep even as at least one remains to toy with Abigail (how many fingers does the wretched woman _have?_).  
  
“You’re quite wet now. How amusing.”  
  
Abigail wants desperately to claw the smirk off her cousin’s face, to cause a reaction in her as she has caused in Abigail, and yet some twisted part of her is perfectly content to go on like this, grinding against Lady Marlborough’s hand as she’s pressed up against a door so no one can interrupt them.  
  
Abruptly Lady Marlborough takes her hand away, wiping her wet fingers briskly on Abigail’s cheek.  
  
“On the floor. Face up or I shall kick you.”  
  
Cunt throbbing, Abigail obeys.  
  
Skirts furl out over her head and Abigail is plunged into darkness and nearly smothered in short succession. Indeed, judging by the almost impatient way Lady Marlborough rolls against Abigail’s face, Abigail cannot help but suspect the possibility that she may murder Abigail with her cunt holds a certain erotic thrill for her cousin.  
  
It also seems to Abigail that if she is worth using, she is worth keeping around, at least long enough for Abigail to find a sturdier tree to climb into.  
  
So she puts out her tongue, grabbing hold of Lady Marlborough’s thighs to get a better angle at which to pleasure her.  
  
She feels Lady Marlborough’s thighs tense, but the woman doesn’t make a sound, not even one of surprise. It is infuriating enough that after a moment she stops.  
  
This is a mistake.  
  
Abigail yelps as Lady Marlborough pulls on her hair, hard.  
  
“Did I tell you to stop?”  
  
“No, my- no…” Abigail attempts to say, but the words come out rather muffled.  
  
“I’ll assume that was an apology. Carry on.”  
  
Of course, Abigail barely begins to lick again before Lady Marlborough begins to move again on top of her, which rather restricts her movements to the point where she is sorely tempted to attempt to bite somewhere highly sensitive. But that would be counterproductive to all persuasion tactics to let her stay in her position.  
  
Not this position, of course. A less literal position, preferably involving relatively new clothes, a room of one’s own and not being tricked into sticking one’s hand into a bucket of lye. A position of some comfort.  
  
But then, precisely when Abigail is beginning to consider her current literal position uncomfortable enough to attempt some form of protest, the weight of Lady Marlborough is lifted and blinding light shines right into Abigail’s eyes as Lady Marlborough smooths down her skirts somewhere to the left of Abigail.  
  
“I see you are as nimble with your tongue as I have heard. You’ll need it, where you’re going.”  
  
The words strike Abigail harder than any physical blow. “You mean…” She sits up, dazed. “You still intend to get rid of me?”  
  
Lady Marlborough scoffs. “Tell me cousin, what is your dearest wish?”  
  
She does not hesitate. “To be safe.”  
  
“Only that?”  
  
Abigail frowns. “Well, since you ask, I should dearly like to regain some measure of my former status.”  
  
“Oh, you’ll never be a lady again. Consider a new occupation.” Her smile is a cruel mockery. “I hear they’re always hiring new whores.” Lady Marlborough sweeps past her and swings open the door. “Now get out, or I shall start kicking you and never stop.”  
  
Humiliated and furious, Abigail stumbles out into the hallway and down the stairs, clutching one of the books Lady Marlborough hurled at her.  
  
For a long moment, she hesitates.  
  
Then, picking up the book, she slams it against her forehead.


End file.
